Reassurance
by AlsoI'mBatman
Summary: Dick has found that he no longer can go to bed without first wishing goodnight to Damian; he has unknowingly picked up some of Bruce's old habits.


**Reassurance**

Dick pressed his fingertips along each door he passed on the left side of the dark hallway. He had no idea what encouraged him to do this, but it happened every night.

It had become a routine, and it filled a primal need of reassurance deep in his gut. He just didn't know why.

Finally, stopping at the second to last door of the hallway, Dick pressed his hand against the dark wood. If he closed his eyes and concentrated, he could even hear the room's only occupant taking slow, easy breaths as he slept.

Dick waited a few more seconds before twisting the doorknob and cracking the door open a sliver, before swishing it open further to stand in the doorway. When he could see Damian, fast asleep, he allowed himself to breath his own quiet, contented sigh.

"Goodnight, Dami. Sweet dreams," Dick whispered from his spot in the doorframe.

This had become a ritual that had started only a few weeks after Damian had come to live with Dick: when Dick had started to feel responsible for the boy's wellbeing. He now checked on his little brother every night he possibly could. Sometimes he would come closer to the sleeping boy, just to see his chest rise and fall steadily, and sometimes he would stroke his hair back and revel in the fact that Damian always looked so young in his sleep, so normal.

Dick took one more look at the sleeping form before backing up, and closing the door gently behind him. Now that his ritual was complete, he could go to bed himself.

**()()()**

Dick closed his eyes once he was warm and under soft covers, and it didn't take long for him to drift into sleep.

That night, his dreams weren't filled with gruesome night terrors, or gory memories as they too often were; instead they were filled with sweet memories. He recalled jumping through leaves one fall as his mother and father chuckled and cherished his joy, then the next autumn running through them similarly, yet it was Bruce who laughed and savored in the seemingly eternal happiness of his youth.

He remembered Christmas morning in his small trailer, seeing the sun peek through the window and immediately inquiring if it was to early to open the one or two presents that awaited him under the small, but beautiful, little tree. The next year he recalled Christmas morning at Wayne Manor, skipping steps on his way down the stairs, until he reached the tinsel and light adorned tree that he, Bruce, and Alfred had decorated.

The last two memories his mind conjured up were from when he was ill. His mother wiped sweat from his forehead, and his father fussed over him, making sure the cup of water at his bedside was always full. Bruce had always done the same, insisting that he stay hydrated. Bruce had no way of knowing that he shared the trait with his father, although Dick had guessed that Bruce noticed some of the half-sad, half-joyful looks Dick would give the older man when he reminded him of his father.

On this particular occasion, Dick had a cold and was unable to sleep even though he was exhausted. After tossing and turning for a while, he was finally drifting off to sleep when he heard footsteps outside his room. He didn't think Bruce should be back from patrol this early, but he couldn't bring himself to get up to inquire about the noise. His head was still pounding, and cold chills were still racking his small frame.

Dick's eyes had been closed when the door opened a sliver, and even when it was swung the rest of the way, he was too exhausted to open his heavy eyelids. Bruce gave a heavy sigh from his place in the doorframe as he saw his young son. After moving forward to the side of the bed, he laid a hand on the sick child's forehead, a pinched expression forming on his face after finding that his fever had not yet broken.

Bruce picked up the cup from Dick's nightstand and refilled it with water from the sink in the bathroom connected to the child's bedroom, before placing it back within reach of the boy. Bruce stroked the child's hair with a pitying expression for a few moments, without realising that it was something Dick's mother had always done.

After a few moments he accepted that he couldn't make Dick more comfortable then he currently was without super healing powers, even though he had cut his patrol short to check on him.

"Goodnight, Dickie," he whispered. Dick would've whispered back, but he was much too tired to do much more than think his sentiment to his father.

This memory was one of his most cherished, even though he was very ill at the time. He enjoyed all of these memories, and enjoyed analyzing the parallels between his life at the circus and life at the manor.

Dick didn't know that this memory was far from the only time Bruce had cut his patrol short for him. Sometimes it was because he was sick, and other times it was just because the Billionaire was tired of all the stress, and just wanted to whisper a goodnight wish to his son.

Because of this, Dick wondered why he felt the need to check on Damian every night. He didn't realise that the need stemmed from the fact that his father had done the very same thing to him.


End file.
